As soon as the "Chimaera's" gunners tore apart the two enemy Star Destroyers that had crept up to the flagship, the pilots received the long-awaited order to attack.
"Telemetry stable, target distribution complete," Alex reported, confirming readiness. "Data is being transmitted on the twenty-fifth channel stably and with all corrections."
"Charge," Tomax said in a calm and familiar tone, shifting the controls of the SPHA.
The "Scimitar-01" (but this was no longer the same machine that he and Alex had assembled on Tangrene, but a factory-built machine, without makeshift modifications and with necessary improvements dictated by the times and the experience of operating the first models), as well as its eleven brethren, broke from a standstill and in a few seconds were tens of standard units away from the Dominion flagship Star Destroyer.
Bren returned the SPHA's control lever to its original position, and the booster, having completed its programmed function, fell silent.
Before the pilot, only the undivided expanse of space opened up, a blackness in which only distant stars were visible.
"Target acquired," Alex reported. "Bomb bays open. Two Star Vipers, twenty units behind us, are heading for us."
"On combat alert," Tomax responded, moving to the attack. "Disengage homing systems."
"Disengaged," the flight engineer reported. "Manual targeting."
"I know."
The enemy might be invisible—to scanners and eyes.
But the twenty-fifth channel gave unambiguous indications of the presence of a cloaked enemy.
Two proton torpedoes left their rails, heading towards the invisible target.
What is invisible to scanners cannot be detected by the targeting computer.
And by the homing heads of proton torpedoes, cumulative missiles, bombs, cluster munitions, and any other guided ordnance that the star destroyer's bomb bays are rich in.
Therefore, the attack is carried out manually.
Complex electronics are disabled.
After that, inside the bomb bay of "Scimitar-01," as well as the other machines of the squadron, there were not many high-tech components left.
Only the engines that will deliver the projectiles to the target.
The acceleration imparted to the torpedoes was visible as a crimson halo around the engine nozzle of each proton munition.
"First pair launched, I'm leaving," Tomax commented on his maneuvering actions.
On the enemy Star Destroyer, hiding under cloaking, they obviously understood that their invisibility was not something that could prevent the crew of the high-speed bomber from striking.
They dropped their cloaking, opening fire with their onboard weapons.
The evasion maneuver performed by Tomax moved the machine aside, saving it from danger.
But the barrage fire could not stop the proton torpedoes.
Filled with baradium fury, they reached their intended target and detonated successfully.
"Confirming target destruction," Alex said. "This 'Aggressor's' ion-plasma cannons will no longer harm anyone."
Performing one aerobatic maneuver after another, Tomax shifted the "Scimitar" sideways.
For a moment, he managed to catch a glimpse of the consequences of the strike.
The bow of the once-cloaked "Aggressor" now presented two ripped-open guide rails, like an ugly flower of disfigured metal and frames that had burst open from the inside.
"He won't hide from us anymore," Alex commented.
"Cease the taunts," Tomax commanded, setting a new course. "We still have thirty proton torpedoes under our belly. And fifteen targets to destroy. Don't relax."
"As you command, Commander," Alex replied nonchalantly. "Just..."
His words were drowned out by another surge.
***
Captain Tschel looked at the scene of the enemy fleet's battle unfolding before him and couldn't believe his eyes.
"This... This... Sir, where did eleven squadrons of 'Scimitars' come from?" he asked thoughtfully. "Our 'Scimitars' are taken into account, of course, but another one hundred and twenty machines?!"
"Everything in its own time, Captain," I stated, not taking my eyes off the panoramic viewport. "Pay attention to the sixth vector. At point two-seven-seven is a Vengeance-class frigate, approaching us on a wide arc."
"Distance sixty units, sir," Tschel noted. "At this distance, we'll only scratch the paint on its hull."
"We don't need more than that for now," I explained. "Cloaking fields are good because they hide starships from scanners and visual detection. But their characteristics are such that they cannot simultaneously maintain both a cloaking and a deflector field. Any damage to a cloaking projector, of which there are quite a few on the hull, leads to a malfunction of this technology. The invisible ceases to be invisible."
And what we see is easier to destroy with more trivial methods than targeting on the twenty-fifth channel.
"You want to strip the cloaking from their destroyers and 'Vengeances'," the destroyer commander understood.
"Exactly, Captain," I nodded, stroking the ysalamiri's soft belly. "The first phase of the battle is to deprive the enemy of their advantage. Once they can no longer stealthily approach us and detonate themselves, we will proceed to the second phase."
"We have already destroyed ten 'Aggressors'," Tschel pointed to the tactical screen.
"A good start," I agreed. "But this is an instance of excessive execution. The 'Scimitar' pilots were ordered to strike the enemy's ion-plasma cannons. Not to destroy the starships. For the latter, we have much more conventional weapons. Which also need to be tested in the current battle, without being distracted by targeting a cloaked enemy."
"You want to deprive them of the ability to be cloaked and to strike us with the fire of their main calibers," Tschel summarized. "But isn't it easier to destroy them immediately?"
"Easier, Captain, of course, it's easier," I agreed. "However, destroying even one 'Aggressor' requires a salvo of one-third to half of the proton torpedoes available in the 'Scimitar's' bomb bays. At the moment, we have lost only a dozen machines of this type, achieving the destruction of only ten destroyers. Moreover, the machines perish during the very first attack, remaining on their combat course longer than necessary to launch a couple of proton torpedoes. As a result—they perish without expending their ammunition and without destroying their designated targets. We have one hundred and twenty 'Scimitars' left, and the enemy has about two hundred and forty destroyers and frigates under cloaking. With this approach, what will run out faster—our 'Scimitars' or the cloaked ships of the enemy?"
Tschel remained silent, pursing his lips.
"You are right, sir, irrational actions," he agreed. "Communications! General directive for our bomber pilots—stop destroying enemy ships in the 'Alpha' zone. Focus on damaging their main guns!"
"Message transmitted, Commander!" the officer from the communications station responded.
I peered into the blackness of space, watching as explosions appeared from nowhere from time to time, and enemy starships outlined their contours, firing furiously and uselessly from their turbolasers at the departing "Scimitars."
The "Alpha" zone is a wide area of space located in front of the "Chimaera." The largest enemy forces are concentrated here—both cloaked and uncloaked.
The key rule here is to disable the starships' cloaking and destroy the monstrous cannons on the "Aggressors," a single shot from which could be a prelude to an unfavorable finale for the "Chimaera."
But there is also the "Beta" zone—this is the space near the "Eternal Wrath," where there are no "Scimitars." There is only a support corvette and several squadrons of TIE Interceptors.
And there are enemy ship squadrons moving to destroy the "Interdictor."
In the "Beta" zone, any enemy starship must be destroyed—there should be no threat to the "Eternal Wrath" from cloaked starships.
This "Interdictor" is our "castle," holding the enemy fleet in a system that will become their mass grave.
Ensuring its safety—considering its small air wing, less powerful artillery than the "Chimaera," and the function assigned to it—is more than a necessity.
This is the foundation of the entire trap.
"We have disrupted the cloaking field on the 'Vengeance'," Captain Tschel reported, pointing to the structure of the enemy frigate that had appeared in the void of space, now fifty units away from us.
"Finish it, Captain," I said, stroking the ysalamiri's soft belly. "The portside artillery will be quite sufficient. And order our strike gunships to launch missile strikes at the enemy starships that have already lost their cloaking. Target: propulsion systems and hyperdrives. Immobilize them, but don't waste time on complete destruction. Reassign four out of our five interceptor squadrons to counter the enemy fighters—they are approaching us on vectors three-two-two and six-eight-eight. We don't want enemy aircraft to reach the destroyer."
"Yes, sir," the "Chimaera's" commander agreed impassively. "Starboard side—target destroyers marked as targets 'four' and 'five,' prepare to strip their cloaking."
I looked at the designated targets.
The ships had just approached us at a distance of eighty units and continued to close, maintaining their cloaking fields.
They belonged to the category of "Aggressors" that were in the system already cloaked by the time we arrived.
The fact that they had moved, while still drifting, and chose the "Chimaera" as their target, indicated that Admiral Sykes still hadn't understood the method by which we detect his starships, invisible to scanners and undetectable visually.
Destroyers that were supposed to destroy the Chimera at the start of the battle had already been lost, and he sent another couple of them towards us, while the rest of his fleet continued to suffer losses from our Scimitars.
"I'm rescinding the order," I said.
"Sir?" Tschel looked at me in confusion.
"You heard correctly, Captain, your order to strike the approaching enemy destroyers is rescinded," I repeated, noting how the Chimera's port-side turbolasers were successfully tearing into the detected Chimera. "Focus the starboard-side guns on destroying those three Interceptor IVs moving towards us on vector four-two-seven, they've already closed to within seventy-five units. They intend to attack us with their launchers, so in fifteen units, make sure they can't."
Despite their heavy armor, every volley that reached the frigate tore chunks of armor away, literally exposing the ship's frames, internal compartments, and bulkheads.
In a battle against a single Star Destroyer, we were demonstrating the full justice of the Imperial Military Commission's decision to deny Vengeance-class frigates and Aggressor-class Star Destroyers membership in the Imperial Starfleet.
This was what should have happened to these starships if they fell into Imperial hands.
Without its main — ion-plasma — armament, the Aggressor turned into just a large target with not the best armor, insufficient artillery, and poor maneuverability.
Installing a cloaking screen on these starships had completely stripped them of their deflector shields' strength.
The lack of the latter on the Vengeances was not compensated for in any way by the combination of a cloaking field and strong armor.
Having lost the former, the frigate subsequently lost its not-so-numerous artillery as well.
With decent speed and armor, it could, of course, continue to serve as a target and a fire ship, but the Chimera's gunners had just demonstrated that knowledge of the enemy starships' systems and accuracy of fire had reliably settled the long-standing issue with such roles for Vengeance-class frigates.
"Sir, aren't the Aggressors and their main caliber more dangerous to us?" Tschel clarified.
"Undoubtedly," I agreed. "But at the moment, our enemy is studying our tactics and trying to understand exactly how we detect his cloaked ships."
"By sacrificing two more destroyers?" Tschel clarified.
"The sooner we destroy them, the more he will know about our detection range for cloaked targets," I explained, pointing to the tactical screen. "Notice that despite the Scimitars' attacks, Admiral Sykes is still holding his starships in their previous formation—they are slowly moving towards us with their entire mass. This allows them to maintain rather dense covering fire on our bombers and slowly grind down what they consider the main threat to their fleet. Why do you think that is?"
Tschel pondered for a few seconds.
"They believe that by knowing the detection distance, they can destroy our Scimitars long before we eliminate all their Star Destroyers, after which, with the remaining ones, they will attack us, surrounding us on all fronts," he concluded.
"Precisely, Captain," I agreed. "Sykes was in despair not long ago. His plan—an attack from different directions—failed. He lost up to a third of his combat wing of the Zann Consortium, without even breaking through into the Dominion. Following this, he resorted to an open attack on two identified 'secret objects,' concentrating his remaining combat and transport forces on the main approaches."
"Does he know that they got nothing on the second moon of Tiraggi?" Tschel inquired.
"He at least suspects it," I said. "Transfer the interceptor squadron to sector three—the Star Vipers are staying close to the hull of the Aggressor, from which the cloaking device was removed two minutes ago. Order our escort corvette to retreat as soon as the interceptors arrive."
The designated ship, having lost its main caliber, became cover for the enemy's heavy fighters, taking hits from our corvette and significantly losing its armament and defenses.
The Raider-class missile and cannon strike was shredding the enemy's engines, knocking out its port-side artillery and doing its best to prevent the starship from reaching the Chimera.
Actually, the enemy wasn't aiming for that.
Sykes on this front had already realized that the battered Aggressor wouldn't reach the destroyer, and therefore was forcing it to take hits, serving as a shield for an aviation ambush.
Tschel carried out my order, and a dozen TIE Interceptors headed for the indicated part of space.
"He probably guessed from the ambush here that it wasn't going well there either," Tschel surmised.
"He is a sufficiently intelligent being," I said. "It's not for nothing that Tyber Zann keeps him close for so long. If we destroy him, our resistance to the Zann Consortium in the next part of the Outer Rim cleanup operation will be an order of magnitude easier."
"He's obviously desperate enough to bring his transport and assault convoy into battle," Tschel noted.
"He bet on a breakthrough resulting not from many small attacks, but two large ones," I explained. "In that case, deploying assault troops first, and then transport ships, is a waste of time. And an increase in losses. It seems he still didn't know how to justify the losses, so he threw all his forces in to achieve at least something."
"He 'didn't know'?" Tschel clarified.
"Precisely," I nodded, noting that our interceptors and corvette had begun to withdraw towards the Chimera. "Now he knows. Therefore, even with precautions, he is trying to implement the only correct option for his triumph in the Zann Consortium's campaign against the Dominion."
"And what is that?"
"Sykes has already realized that my death is a cover, and everything that has happened in the last three months is the result of my operational game with their organization," I explained. "Now they can only win in one case—by destroying me by any means necessary."
"Understood, sir," Tschel replied dryly.
"Our interceptors and corvette are withdrawing," the words made the Chimera's commander focus again on observing the battlefield, rather than contemplating my words. "This is a good chance for the enemy to counterattack and fulfill his original plan. Our gunners are busy with other targets, and to shoot down their Star Vipers, they would have to fire on our own forces. They cannot fail to take advantage of this situation. Order the interceptors to make a turn, and the corvette to finish off the Aggressor on my command."
The Star Vipers indeed emerged from behind the enemy Star Destroyer's hull and rushed after the designated Dominion starships.
As already stated, this was a perfect opportunity for them to break through to the Chimera.
It seems someone from the classics described this as: "We broke into the enemy's trenches on the shoulders of his retreating troops."
I waited until the situation developed favorably for our interceptors and corvette, and then, as soon as their pursuers couldn't stand it, I commanded:
"Destroy them."
Making a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, Lieutenant Jainer opened fire, noticing out of the corner of his eye that his wingman followed his example.
The first Star Viper, not expecting such a treacherous maneuver, came under fire from four laser cannons and turned into a blazing ball.
His wingman lagged behind him by only a fraction of a second.
Leaving two small clouds of scrap metal in their wake, the lead pair of the Grey Wing squadron surged into the attack.
The return salvo from the recovered Zann Consortium pilots was not long in coming.
The Dominion forces plunged into the crimson flashes of deadly energy, not ceasing to break one aerobatic figure after another.
From the outside, it was probably beautiful, but in reality, it was unpleasant, especially after one of the most accurate shooters managed to set Jainer's interceptor's skin on fire.
And it so happened that the inertial compensator collapsed, causing the pilot inside the cockpit to momentarily feel the weight of the universe and the desire for his eyes to burst out of their sockets, having first made the pilot feel all the pain of the optic nerves.
But the onboard computer (many thanks to the Dominion engineers for improving it!) reacted to the damage and the pilot's suffering a second later, after which it connected the backup compensator.
For that, as well as for the deflectors and the cumulative missile launchers, which had now become the norm for TIE Interceptors—many thanks to the engineers as well.
Because in the second that Krieg felt like he was contents of a blender under pressure, his interceptor managed to absorb several good shots from the laser cannon of the nearest Star Viper.
And, although the deflector discharged, the machine remained intact.
And the pilot—also intact.
And very angry about all his suffering.
Together with his wingman, they dealt with another unlucky Viper that caught their eye.
In place of the enemy starfighter, a rapidly expanding ball of superheated gas and debris formed.
And then the turn was repeated, and the offended Viper came under the fire of his laser cannons, delighting the pilot with its demise.
Having lost only one pilot, the Grey Wing squadron had halved a dozen enemy starfighters and had no intention of stopping at this achievement.
The Star Vipers had only just realized that the Raider III, which they were also chasing, was comfortably positioned far behind their thrusters and was cheerfully blinking its own.
Simultaneously, with all its heart and cannon power, as well as its launcher systems, it was pounding the defenseless port side of the long-suffering Aggressor, moving towards the stern and turning its engines into something resembling a sieve made of high-strength metals.
The very one from behind whose hull the notorious Star Vipers had recently emerged.
Krieg, performing a horizontal spin, noticed the harbinger of doom, shattering another Viper into pieces with cannon fire.
"Raider," he addressed the corvette's commander. "The Aggressor's hull is changing color."
"Thanks, we're aware," the latter replied dryly.
The corvette, having finished off the victim's engines with a salvo, banked in a turn that would have made even an interceptor pilot feel his stomach in the sky, and then sped away at full thrust.
It was impossible to escape the shockwave.
For a large ship—the interceptors handled this perfectly, and they were farther from the epicenter of the explosion than the Raider, which was destined to die a brave death.
But to perform a "loop," firing into the void with laser cannons and launching a few missiles, to reveal the position of another enemy starship, to use its hull for cover, to take a full salvo of enemy turbolasers to the deflector, to turn around and with the cynicism of a pedant destroy the turbolasers and engines of a second enemy starship, suffering only a dozen minor hull breaches...
"They're lunatics," Jainer whispered, watching with his own eyes the pirouettes that no fleet officer would ever have attempted, even to save their own skin.
On the decks of that ship, at least half the crew had turned green from the internal conflicts tearing at their stomachs, and the other half had passed out, just like the gravitational compensator from such maneuvers.
"Raider, are you guys alive?" the Grey Wing squadron commander worried.
"Yes..."
The reply was strained, but clearly demonstrated that the guys on board that little ship were clearly not doing well.
"We'll cover you, retreat to the Chimera," Krieg ordered, having coordinated the decision with the dispatcher.
The corvette turned uncertainly in place, and only then did Jainer notice a long breach crossing its starboard side.
Clearly, they had taken at least one turbolaser salvo from the destroyer without deflectors.
Roughly estimated, the damage wasn't critical, but one had to understand that this vessel was not a Star Destroyer.
And that through-hole, visible near the right engine, certainly wouldn't heal on its own.
Nor would the redundant gravity compensator, which was missing not by its own will, return to its place.
It was all the more correct decision to let the guys retreat to the Chimera, perhaps even patch up their breaches, recover from the overloads, and fix some of the problems.
The interceptors, splitting into two squads, organized an escort, while another part of them rushed to finish off the surviving Vipers.
They didn't play around with these, flying in a straight line, choosing targets and maneuvering only as much as was necessary for safety, but the impression was that the "Greys" were going to ram the enemy.
The continuous fire from Jainer's cannons flaked off the Viper's armor like husks.
Due to lack of free space, Krieg flew through a cloud of debris at full speed and winced, hearing them drum against the hull.
Such madness didn't come without consequences even for more protected starfighters, let alone a less protected interceptor.
His wingman missed his prey; the pilot dodged at the last second, and he was carried away in a wide arc towards another enemy ship.
Two signals on the scanner merged into one and simultaneously disappeared, leaving the "Greys'" scanners pristine.
But not for long.
A new enemy squadron was already rushing towards them, supported by a couple of Interceptor IVs.
The Chimera's starboard artillery was engaging the latter, and doing so so successfully that for a moment it seemed as if some evil god had blown and ripped off the deflectors from both.
However, somehow this resulted in the appearance of another squadron of Vipers.
Which was not good.
Six TIE Interceptors against twenty-four Star Vipers—not the best odds.
"Grey Leader to squadron—we're withdrawing under the Chimera's protection," Jainer ordered.
He had already seen that the wounded corvette had reached the Star Destroyer's underside and was now firing from a protected position with its laser cannons and homing cumulative missiles.
Like crimson spears, its laser cannons, once an exclusive armament of Crusader-class corvettes, were doing their best to prevent the enemies from striking the Star Destroyer from below.
Krieg, blinking, realized that there were too many enemies around the mother ship.
Yes, that's right—two squadrons of Star Vipers, but from a different direction, had broken through to the Chimera and were now diligently preventing a dozen and a half TIE Interceptors from performing their duty of defending the flagship Star Destroyer.
"Grey Leader to Chimera CIC, we're withdrawing as a whole squadron to you," Jainer warned.
"Roger that," the dispatcher responded. "Five of your pilots who escorted the Raider have already been integrated into the ship's defense. For the rest—the same order until further notice."
"Roger, CIC, defending the Chimera."
Duplicating the order for all combatants, Krieg strained his interceptor's engines with all his might, pushing them to the limit.
The pilots of the Grey Wing were fleeing the pursuit at full speed, and towards them came several Vipers, having broken away from bombarding the Chimera, and this whole preposterous collection of unreliable weapons opened fire.
So both the "Greys" and their pursuers plunged into the plasma storm as if they were suicidal.
Krieg started to feel the heat.
He had just come to the conclusion that he would rather fly straight into the enemy's teeth than towards an ally who could theoretically distinguish friend from foe, but the flagship's safety was paramount.
Turbolasers fired at a high frequency, occasionally incinerating Vipers attempting to attack the Star Destroyer.
For some reason, they didn't use missiles and torpedoes, engaging the Chimera exclusively with energy weapons.
Either the enemy lacked the skill for missile-torpedo strikes, or the equipment, or the desire.
But no one was going to guess here.
The "Greys" were met head-on with a full combat load: green and red laser bursts, bluish flashes of ion charges, smoky trails of homing cumulative missiles.
Take your pick.
Krieg ordered, and his pilots scattered in different directions like minnows attracted by electricity, and then decided to turn the trap into a full-blown hunt.
Some of the pursuers also preferred not to encounter the deadly fiery vortex; some were less lucky.
A close explosion of a cumulative missile from the Raider spun Jainer's machine, forcing him to control the interceptor and check the instruments to ensure his wingman was alive, well, and still in place.
The ether was again filled with voices, phrases overlapping, merging into a single whole.
His pilots, with the cold-bloodedness of serial killers, adjusted each other's flight paths, warned other squadron pilots of danger, and informed the gunners on the Chimera and the Raider about threats from enemy starfighters.
"Second squadron, don't get distracted by..."
"Twelve to Five, gain altitude, come on!.."
"I'm hit, taking the ship away from the destroyer..."
"Two on my tail, can't shake them..."
"Scattered missile salvo, and I'd appreciate it if you hurry, there's a whole squadron there..."
Spinning the interceptor in a right barrel roll and descending relative to the battle zone, the pilot noticed the squadron the Raider commander had just mentioned.
The Star Vipers among the "Greys'" pursuers were forming into a wedge for a decisive breakthrough.
Spitting on niceties and without sorting targets, Krieg opened fire, hitting the nearest enemy ship.
All four shots hit the engine compartment; the Viper turned into a fireworks display of explosions and debris, and the cloud left after the reactor detonation engulfed its wingman.
However, the second fighter emerged from the fire almost immediately, seemingly unharmed.
The wingman also fired.
He aimed at the panels diverging from the cockpit like rays of a star in a child's drawing, but instead, he punched neat holes in the fuselage.
Krieg and his partner didn't bother to figure out what happened to the pilot next; they exited the combat zone and chased the surviving Vipers.
The rest of the squadron's machines joined them, but literally a second later, they were halted by the Raider's commander.
Adjusting their course, eleven "Greys" let the previously designated missile salvo pass between them, and a series of homing cumulative missiles shot after the enemy.
This ended in a spectacular series of explosions, which only one enemy starfighter managed to survive.
And even then, not for long.
Krieg and his wingman boxed it in and shot it down, despite the enemy's masterful piloting.
The space around the Chimera cleared of enemy fighters, and now all pilots could observe with what delight the Raider's laser cannons intercepted the streams of anti-ship missiles launched by both Interceptors.
Meanwhile, the Dominion destroyer's gunners, with almost surgical precision, hammered turbolaser salvo after turbolaser salvo into the hulls of the enemy frigates, literally tearing them to pieces.
And, when both ships were brought to a complete silence almost simultaneously, the Chimera's turbolasers fired "over the heads" of both Interceptor IVs.
At first, Krieg didn't understand the reason for such a naive miss, but when it turned out that the gunners had hit an "invisible" target, blowing off the noses of two approaching Aggressor-class Star Destroyers, the maneuver performed by the flagship's gunners became as clear as a Tatooine day.
The enemy ships, with their nose sections mangled, resembling (before the direct hit) two rectangular rails, did not cease their forward movement but engaged their modest artillery capabilities to strike the Dominion flagship.
"Chimera CIC to Grey Leader," the dispatcher's voice sounded. "You have a new assignment."
"Received," Krieg responded.
"Cover the strike gunship squadron heading to point three-nine-five," the dispatcher ordered.
Jainer estimated the direction.
"Order understood, we'll cover."
Switching to the squadron channel, the squadron commander commented:
"Greys, we're moving out to cover the Xg-1s, who are about to strike those two ugly things our valiant gunners damaged. Maximum attention—I remind you, these things love to blow themselves up in enemy aviation formations.
Dry clicks confirmed the orders.
Krieg sighed heavily.
When he agreed to be a donor for clone pilots, he was quite optimistic.
When his squadron was staffed with them, he was even happy.
When each interceptor pilot on the Chimera, after Kreb's transfer, became piloted by Jainer's clones—it even made him proud of himself and even cheerful.
After all, it's not every day that your face defends the flagship Star Destroyer of the Dominion.
It's just that he wasn't told that the clones would be as joyless and dull conversationalists as Kreb, not like himself.
Well, humanity is humanity, but his guys fly and destroy the enemy better than anyone.
It's time to demonstrate this to the crews of those "dented" enemy Aggressors.
Mara intercepted her lightsaber without looking back and delivered a direct thrusting blow with the blade behind her.
The "vulture's" breath turned into snorting and wheezing, followed by the sound of a fall.
"So what were you saying about the 'Idiot's Layout'?" she asked, feigning innocence, to the heavily breathing Zabrak woman standing about ten meters away from her, at the other end of the central computer compartment.
The part of the ship that had turned into a battlefield was littered with destroyed terminals and pieces of decorative paneling—all of it torn and cut from their places when the two furies clashed in a lightsaber duel.
The red-haired beast saw that her opponent's nostrils had widened—she was trying to intimidate her human opponent.
From time to time, she let out a low growl and shook her horned head, baring predatory teeth.
At first, this behavior made Jade tense.
Now, she simply ignored the posturing.
"I know this blade," she said, continuing to hold her stomach with one hand, which bore a long burn wound.
The author, of course, was none other than the red-haired woman in Grand Admiral Thrawn's service.
It was after him that the Zabrak tried to escape, unleashing her minions on Mara.
It certainly took some effort and care to get the automation to lock the door to the compartment, which Mara herself had damaged.
But what wouldn't one do to prevent their opponent from escaping?
"Oh, really?" Mara stepped over the severed arm of another "vulture," momentarily catching that it was still alive.
Describing a semicircle in the air, she plunged the blade precisely into the throat of the pretending "vulture," ending its life as well.
"Will you enlighten me?"
"This sword belonged to Jedi Master Mace Windu," the Zabrak explained, breathing heavily.
"As you can see, this Korunnai is no more," Mara spread her hands. "And the sword now belongs to me."
"You didn't kill Windu," the black-haired Zabrak stated confidently. "You wouldn't have had the strength for it. He's the best..."
"Don't you know a bit too much for a simple mercenary with something resembling lightsabers?" Mara inquired.
"I was Padawan to Master Shaak-Ti!" she blurted out at her opponent with malice and fury.
Simultaneously, she threw the nearest debris at Mara.
Thrawn's Hand calmly dodged most of it, cutting down the rest with her light blade or deflecting it with the Force.
"Maris Brood," her memory prompted unerringly.
"You know me?" she asked, surprised.
"I remember the names of all the Jedi whom the Empire considered conditionally alive until information about their destruction appeared," Jade explained. "I even tracked down and killed some of them."
"Ah-ha," the Zabrak broke into a wry smile. "So you're just like that boy who killed my master!"
"From this moment on, please, elaborate," Mara requested. "And no, don't even think about throwing one of your pseudo-shotos at me. I'll intercept it, and it will cost you a few of your charming horns. So? Revelations, or shall we fight again?"
Brood lunged with a simple overhead double strike, but Jade reacted with a quick parry, deflecting the blades aside.
The crackling and humming of intersecting pure energy blades filled the compartment, after which, realizing the gravity of the situation, the combatants immediately recoiled from each other and returned to their waiting positions.
However, Mara managed to deliver a good kick to her opponent's wounded side.
"Bitch," she rasped, practically howling in pain.
"That sounded like a compliment," Mara smiled.
Somewhere on the ship, an explosion rang out, causing the artificial gravity to play a cruel trick on them.
And at that moment, Maris lunged forward.
Her right blade swept diagonally from right to left in a long, fast arc.
Mara managed to redirect the blow with her weapon but lost her balance due to the activated gravity and recoiled, performing a roll.
Maris tried to solidify her advantage.
Her left blade swept in an arc from left to right, and her right—symmetrically, but in a mirror image.
Ideally, this should have decapitated Jade, but she simply Force-pushed her opponent away.
The Zabrak, confirming her assumption that all these wheezes and grimaces of pain were nothing more than pretense to observe how Mara fought against the Vultures, jumped back to a safe distance, creating space between them.
Mara broke off the half-completed sequence and returned to her ready stance.
"Who did you serve?" the Zabrak asked in a surprisingly calm tone, straightening up as if she hadn't been wounded at all. "The Emperor? Vader? Someone lower, like Hethrir? The Inquisitorius?"
"Did you guess from the first try why you had to bother with further enumerations?" Mara shrugged, making sure that her opponent was not so simple in terms of information—she at least knew that Hethrir, the Supreme Prosecutor of the Empire, had his own subordinates sensitive to the Force.
"Servant of the Emperor," the Zabrak said contemptuously.
"We all have our flaws," Mara shrugged. "At least I didn't serve in an Order whose four masters couldn't kill one Sith who had already lived half his human life."
"So you know about that too," Maris stated.
"Just because I act carelessly doesn't mean I'm an idiot," Jade assured her. "You, I see, are also something. Are you sure you don't want to switch sides?"
"And serve the Empire that destroyed my past?" the Zabrak looked at her in disbelief. "No, you're definitely an idiot."
"Insulting instead of making caustic remarks is bad," Mara said sympathetically. "I was beaten with Force Lightning as a child for swearing, so I wouldn't curse."
"It didn't help much... Aaaaaaah!"
Mara struck with electricity from her left hand, and as soon as she was sure her opponent had intercepted it with both blades—she struck with her right as well.
Thus, she finally caught the Zabrak.
Mara had been working on achieving physical mastery for all these past weeks when Thrawn expressed his displeasure.
Under Maul's tutelage, she repeatedly practiced forgotten techniques and learned new ones.
In the breaks between training sessions, she felt that as her skill grew, less and less mental energy was spent on the physical execution of strikes, parries, and counterstrikes.
This concentrated her mind.
Thus, she could use the Force itself, anticipating the actions of even her gifted opponents, while simultaneously eclipsing and confusing their premonitions.
And this also allowed her to attack in several directions—sometimes with physical force, sometimes with the Force.
There is, however, a nuance.
"Well-done Zabrak meat isn't exactly my preference," she said, looking at Brood, who had collapsed to her knees.
With verbal bravado, she hid her rapid exhaustion from using Force Lightning.
Maul had already explained to her (and not once, and mostly not just with words, but with extremely harsh lessons) that her path was lightsaber combat and only superficial use of the Force for combat maneuvers.
Deeper Force techniques literally drained her.
Of course, she listened to her hateful instructor, but she did so in such a way that he wasn't the only source of her knowledge.
There is a lot of interesting information among Jedi relics.
Especially that holocron from Ossus.
The last time she met Maul for training (before the Emperor's death), Mara was a novice.
And the Zabrak often beat her.
Moreover—he mocked her as much as he could.
And he never minced words.
The Emperor had strictly forbidden him from killing his servants, so he compensated for his physical inadequacy in destroying students with verbal epithets.
It was then that Mara adopted his caustic wit as one of her strongest tactics for victory.
To provoke an opponent, disrupt their concentration, win them over, or simply crush them morally—in this, Sith are unparalleled in the galaxy.
Now, Mara had practically learned everything that the Zabrak instructor could teach her and assessed her opponent perfectly in both physical and emotional terms.
She had some kind of emotional trauma.
And, perhaps, this would be the key to getting her to join the Dominion.
The Zabrak was well-trained, steeped in the Dark Side (is it some kind of fetish for Zabrak to be evil and aggressive?), and clearly not seeking the restoration of the Jedi Order in the New Republic or the Alliance, since she found refuge among the Zann Consortium.
No, of course, all this might just be optimistic, but something told Mara that to counter Palpatine, they needed as many Force-sensitive beings as possible.
If Darth Vader couldn't pulverize him, and his son might already be kneeling before Palpatine, then...
Quickly spinning her sword, Mara jumped a short distance into the air and rapidly charged at the enemy.
Maul said that to subdue an opponent, one must break them.
Not so much physically, as morally.
Since this lady serves the Zann Consortium for some reason, she could be quite useful.
At least in terms of knowledge.
Maris deflected the attack, but a kick to the head sent her crashing onto the deck plating.
She rolled onto her back, and he barely managed to raise one of his blades in time to block the next sharp thrust.
The blades hissed as Mara's attacks rained down.
Maris kept her from landing a direct blow with a masterful defensive flurry, then, with a trip, knocked the red-haired woman off her feet, but also earned herself a knee to the jaw.
Causing both women to fall to the deck.
They sprang to their feet simultaneously, mirror images; their blades met with another deafening hiss and clang before they sprang apart again.
Maris's resilience was not serving her well: she breathed raggedly, her shoulders slumped, sometimes gasping for air.
"It seems your hearts have stopped working in sync," Mara observed. "You should watch your health, friend, or you'll die not from a sword, but from a heart attack. That would be hilarious..."
Brood lunged at her again.
This time, however, Mara did not retreat.
She stepped forward and made a swift lunge, transitioning from Form III to the more precise and aggressive Form II.
With an unexpected maneuver, she caught the Zabrak off guard, and she hesitated for a moment in realizing the change.
An attempt to parry the blow deflected the blade aimed at Mara's chest, but only for the purple blade to slice through one of the Zabrak's weapons, nearly severing her fingers.
Pushing her with the Force, Brood did a small backflip, emerging from it with her second weapon extended forward.
"You thought I'd chase after you?" Mara clarified. "No thanks, I've given too much to the gym to ruin my stomach with a lightsaber cut."
"Is this just entertainment for you?" the Zabrak exclaimed, getting to her feet and readjusting her grip on her weapon.
"No, I'm just buying time to download EVERYTHING from your central computer," Mara thought.
"There's no point in hiding it," she said. "I think it's time you switched sides. You don't exactly have warm feelings for the Empire, do you?"
"They destroyed the Order and usurped power!"
"And you don't exactly have warm feelings for the New Republic either..."
"They're even worse than the Republic was before Palpatine!"
"Well, we do have a strong army and good laws inherited from the Empire, and decent freedoms from our republican past," Mara voiced the main points of the Dominion negotiators.
"Glad for you! But you have nothing to offer me to betray my honor and switch sides!"
Brood took a ready stance again.
"You're weak," Mara explained, casually drawing complex, intricate patterns with her sword. "Predictable. You've been trained well, but let's be honest—you can't handle me. I'll do what I came here for and leave the ship. With you or without you. But if it's without you, you'll die."
"Don't be such a naive fool," Brood laughed. "I've faced Darth Vader's apprentice twice and survived! I'm too good to die like this..."
"Which one?"
"What?" the Zabrak didn't understand.
"Which of his apprentices did you face?" Mara inquired. "It's just that this Force favorite had so many secret apprentices that..."
"A boy, about twenty," Brood shrugged. "Galen Marek. Starkiller... Something like that. It was over ten years ago on Felucia. We fought twice."
"Really?" Mara drawled.
She understood who the Zabrak was talking about.
And she was torn by justified doubts.
"We fought twice! Once—when he killed my master, Shaak-Ti," Brood said with malice. "The second time—when I captured the rebel senators from the Alliance."
"And you survived?" Mara clarified.
"As you can see," she looked at the red-haired woman mockingly. "I'm stronger than I look."
"I haven't faced this kid personally, but what the Emperor said about him makes your words somewhat..." Mara waved her hand and grimaced. "No offense, but this kid dropped a Star Destroyer from orbit and fought the Emperor and Vader on equal terms. And you can't even match the strength of Darth Vader's prosthetic leg. Frankly, because you're such a weakling, that's why you hang out with losers like Zann."
"I'm with them because they found me, gave me shelter, food, finished my training..."
"And who was smart enough to do it so foolishly?" Mara Jade inquired, hearing a beep from the central computer.
She brought her hand behind her back, and the data chip jumped into her palm.
Without taking her eyes off her opponent, she put the device into a secure and sturdy case on her belt.
Now the information was safe, and even a fall from a great height wouldn't damage the precious chip.
"Urai Fenn, Tyber Zann's right hand!" Brood declared with inexplicable pride. "Urai taught me to fight. And Admiral Sykes, the one who subjugated Felucia to the organization—made me a good tactician. I was given everything I asked for—that's why I fight on their side."
"Except you say it somewhat unconfidently," Mara thought. "And something tells me a simple truth—if the door were open, you'd run from here further than you've ever seen."
"No offense, friend, but you're just being used," Jade explained. "I don't know what Fenn taught you, but you're not brilliant in combat. Take my word for it—I've fought Jedi. Your skill level is that of a Padawan who waves his little sticks left and right. And I won't even mention your command abilities—you just threw your soldiers at me to see how I'd deal with them."
"And you found out your moves," Brood snarled.
"I spent a couple of seconds on each of them," Mara raised an eyebrow. "Not much of an observation."
She felt a coveted desire emanating from her opponent.
She clearly wasn't in the mood for a prolonged confrontation.
Even though she was trained, she was still exhausted from the first minutes of the fight.
The conversation Mara was having didn't serve as a break for her to recover her strength for some reason.
On the contrary, it only depleted her.
"You won't leave this ship alive," Maris Brood repeated her thesis, taking her weapon ready. "And neither will I, it seems..."
And there was so much disappointment and the crackle of broken hopes in her voice that everything fell into place.
So that's what it was!
This Zabrak hadn't intended to fight to the last!
"You don't want to die for the 'Zann Consortium'," Mara squinted, getting into a defensive stance just in case.
"Nonsense," the Zabrak parried her words. "I came here to kill you—a Dominion agent."
"Oh, no-no, friend," Mara smiled, seeing that the Zabrak's weapon had shifted aside.
Attacking from that angle would be suicide.
"'You have nothing to offer me'," Jade repeated. "'to switch sides.' You said that to me just a few minutes ago, commenting on my own words, in which I didn't even voice my offer to switch sides."
"You... You offered it!" Maris stammered, flustered.
"Of course," Mara smiled.
Now the Zabrak was in her hands.
The cards were revealed.
"You engaged in combat by sending 'vultures' to get rid of witnesses," Mara said. "Then, you pretended to be all righteous and ideological so that your switch to our side wouldn't look like betrayal, but rather like recruitment. So I wouldn't suspect that you wanted to escape from here as far as possible from the very beginning."
The Zabrak gritted her teeth.
"Is it that obvious?" she asked.
"From the very first moment you opened your mouth," Jade lied.
"Banta puudu!" Brood extinguished her weapon and hung it on her belt. "I came to them because the Empire was on my trail! And I have no desire to be some commander or liquidator in Tyber Zann's service, like others! Not long ago, I thought Zann was actually not bad, and since democracy or tyranny couldn't handle this mess, maybe the 'Consortium' way of life as a ruling regime isn't bad for the galaxy. But now I understand that this is also just a facade. Everyone wants power, and mistakes are not forgiven," Mara twisted her lips, remembering how Thrawn "forgave" her mistakes. It would have been better if he had thrown her into boiling water than compared her to a floor covering verbally. And he even got involved with that Isard, as if he wanted to humiliate her as much as possible! After all, he knows perfectly well that the real Snow Queen tortured Mara after Endor! "For failing the operation against the Dominion, he'll skin us all alive! I don't want to be a pawn in matters that don't even concern me! But, no offense—you don't have the best hand to switch sides. You might be strong, but your fleet... Our victory is inevitable."
Her grip on her blade tightened, as if she had already decided to continue a fight she couldn't win.
Killing her would cost nothing.
But as a non-ordinary fighter of the 'Zann Consortium,' Brood was valuable.
She at least mentioned other Force-sensitive beings in Zann's service.
Some of them might be blatant agents of the Emperor.
"Yes, yes, yes, we all think so," Mara thought mockingly. "And then a couple of fiery speeches from the Grand Admiral, and you're already at the forefront promoting his plans with zeal and fervor, like in the days when you worshiped the Emperor."
"So, what?" Jade asked. "Are we going to fight more, or maybe we should get off this ship?"
"And where?" Brood grimaced, perking up. "There are only two of your starships in the system! And ours—several hundred! You'll be killed now, and I'll be a traitor and..."
The homemade commlink on Jade's belt beeped with a call sound.
The girl activated the holoprojector, knowing perfectly well whom she would see.
But that was the plan.
"Hand," Grand Admiral Thrawn addressed her, "you have five minutes to leave the enemy flagship. After that time, I will destroy their entire fleet, regardless of whether you are safe or not."
"Understood," Mara replied, calculating the time she needed to get to her ship, which was probably still docked with the 'Consortium of Zann' flagship. A suitable plan was already forming in her mind. "I'll manage in half that time."
"It's in your own interest."
Traditionally, without saying goodbye, Thrawn broke the communication.
Jade glanced stealthily at her recent opponent, who stood with her mouth open.
"Still sure we can't win?" she asked the Zabrak slyly. "Let me remind you that last year Thrawn destroyed half of the New Republic fleet and thwarted all of your gang's plans to conquer the Dominion. If he says he'll destroy all enemy ships here, then so be it."
"We need to do something about the door," the Zabrak declared, licking her lips and making a decision. "I know a shortcut to the docking bays."
Darth Maul, of course, was a rare pain in the ass, but let's be honest with ourselves—sometimes his advice really worked.
Break physically.
Break morally.
And do whatever you want with your opponent.
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Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: Granulan